ild.

"Are you hungry yet?" she said.

"I'm allus hungry," was the answer, "but 't ain't as bad as it was."

"Come in here," said the woman, and she held open the shop door.

The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full
of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going
to happen. She did not care, even.

"Get yourself warm," said the woman, pointing to a fire in the tiny
back room. "And look here; when you are hard up for a bit of bread,
you can come in here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to
you for that young one's sake."

* * *

Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all events, it was
very hot, and it was better than nothing. As she walked along she
broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer.

"Suppose it was a magic bun," she said, "and a bite was as much as a
whole dinner. I should be overeating myself if I went on like this."

It was dark when she reached the square where the Select Seminary was
situated. The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds were
not yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caught
glimpses of members of the Large Family. Frequently at this hour she
could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a big
chair, with a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on the
arms of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them. This evening
the swarm was about him, but he was not seated. On the contrary, there
was a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident that a journey
was to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it. A
brougham stood before the door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped
upon it. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to
their father. The pretty rosy mother was standing near him, talking as
if she was asking final questions. Sara paused a moment to see the
little ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent over and
kissed also.

"I wonder if he will stay away long," she thought. "The portmanteau is
rather big. Oh, dear, how they will miss him! I shall miss him
myself--even though he doesn't know I am alive."

When the door opened she moved away--remembering the sixpence--but she
saw the traveler come out and stand against the background of the
warmly-lighted hall, the older children still hovering about him.

"Will Moscow be covered with snow